


a hundred moons

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Divorce, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-12-30 11:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eight years after the divorce, Stiles receives a letter in the mail. Inside the envelope is a huge wad of cash, and a note written by his ex-husband.Take the money and leave the country for six months. You're not safe here.Naturally, Stiles takes the money and hitches the first flight back to Beacon Hills.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what manner of canon divergence this is. derek isn't supposed to be an alpha but he is. a bunch of people aren't supposed to be alive but they are. i don't think scott and co are gonna up and leave beacon hills either. i don't know a lot of things, please don't think too hard about it.

"Don't do it," Scott urges, as Stiles shuffles around, haphazardly throwing clothes into his luggage. "It's been eight years, and now you're gonna run back to him?"

Stiles stops for a moment to turn to his best friend. "Dude, listen. I know this is insane, but I know Derek. He wouldn't-- not without a reason. He doesn't talk about anything, so if he's talking about this it has to be super serious and I have to go and help him."

"You're not obliged to help him."  _Not anymore._

"I know, but..."

Scott sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, you made the decision to leave and he respected it. If he really is in trouble, then you should respect his decision to have you lay low for a bit. You don't even have to flee the country, just take my spare room for a bit."

"I can't impose on you and Malia and your newborn daughter. Anyway, I don't work like that. I'm an FBI agent, I can take care of myself." Technically, he was an FBI agent on forced leave because something something mental health, but Scott did not need to know that. "And I need to do _something,_ I need to--"  _I need to see him again,_  he thinks, and clamps down on that thought as soon as it arrives."I don't know. Get some answers from him and maybe sort it out, and maybe I won't even need to run."

Scott fixes him with a long, drawn-out stare. The silence drags on and Stiles can almost hear the cogs in his best friend's head going, and he resists the urge to fidget. He got better at controlling his ADHD tendencies as the years went by, but they never went away fully.

"You're going, no matter what," Scott finally says. It is not a question.

"Yeah." Stiles chews his lip. "Sorry, Scott, I just--"

Scott sighs, but backs down. "Don't apologize. Just... come back. In one piece." 

 

* * *

 

The moment the flight touches down, he flags a cab to take him to the Hale residence. He expects they will not welcome him because he may have broken their Alpha's heart and left suddenly. He definitely does not expect the Hale pack to be waiting for him on their lawn. Boyd and Isaac have their backs against the concrete wall, kicking off when Stiles opens the door and steps out. Jackson and Ethan continue holding hands, seemingly unbothered by the heavy tension in the air. Cora stops her pacing to glare at Stiles. 

Of course, the first thing that comes out of Stiles' big mouth is "I didn't know werewolves needed to photosynthesize," and before he can shut his big mouth, "But the sun is going down so there's no point staying out anymore."

Jackson snorts. Ethan elbows him lightly. 

"Why are you here," Cora grits out.

"Because Derek sent me a cryptic letter and some cash and I want to know what trouble you got into this time, except I was blocked on all forms of social media years ago so I decided to take a trip to Beacon Hills to ask about it. And to see my dad."

That was a lie. Stiles was the one who blocked Derek after the divorce had been finalized; in a moment of curiosity, he unblocked Derek to see if he could add Derek as a friend and he could. He had never clicked the block button faster in that instant.

Boyd raises an eyebrow, obviously detecting the lie but choosing not to comment. 

"But seriously though, why are you guys out here?"

"Derek smelled you," Boyd responds.

"Oh." That makes sense. Wait, on second thought that made absolutely no sense at all. "But I came in a car."

Jackson rolls his eyes even harder. "He's a born, evolved werewolf who is also the Alpha of one of the most powerful, prestigious packs. You're also his mate. He could pick you out anywhere you go."

"Okay...? I'm not his mate though." Stiles looks around for confirmation. Ethan, however, has the gall to look unimpressed. Actually, all of them are giving Stiles an equally unimpressed look, except Cora, who looks like she wants to gut Stiles and leave his entrails hanging at the mailbox, and maybe Boyd, who thankfully looks a little sympathetic. "We're divorced. He doesn't-- I don't mean anything to him anymore."

Cora cuts in. "Are you even listening to yourself? You're his _mate._ Werewolves only mate once in their entire lives. It doesn't matter if you're fucking divorced, because that bite mark is never going to fade, not even if one of you dies."

"Actually, Derek said the mark would take about a decade to fade? It's still here--" Stiles pulls down the collar of his shirt to expose the mating bite. "--but it's not fading or anything, but I'll wait for another two years to really complain about it."

Jackson throws his hands up in the air in surrender and reenters the house, slamming the door behind him. Ethan makes worried eye contact with the rest of the Hale pack and waits for a curt nod from Cora before following his boyfriend? husband? mate? back into the house.

(Now that Stiles thinks about it, did Jackson and Ethan ever get hitched? Stiles never expected a wedding invitation as their Alpha's ex-husband, but he is genuinely kind of curious about it right now.)

They stare at the shut door in silence for a loaded minute, then Isaac speaks up. "You don't know, do you? You genuinely don't know."

"Know what?" Stiles asks. Cora's eyes narrow and she lets out a low growl, and her eyes light up a brilliant gold. Stiles knows better than to take a step back, because showing werewolves weakness is showing submission, and he will not submit to Cora.

"Cora, don't," Isaac cuts in.

"No. He should know exactly what he put Derek through for the last eight years."

"I want to know."

"Both of you--" Boyd starts, but he is interrupted by Cora.

"Ever since you left, Derek has spent his time preparing for his death."

Stiles' blood runs cold. "What? Why? What's he dying from?"

"Mate rejection. After a mate rejects a werewolf, the werewolf will spend the next hundred moons longing for their mate. And if they never get their mate back, they waste away and die."

His heartbeat starts to speed up, and his hands start to shake. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know--"

"And Derek is our Alpha. If an Alpha suffers from mate rejection, their Betas will hunt down the mate and attempt to drag him back. If the mate still rejects our Alpha..."

"Cora, stop!" Isaac yells.

"Then we kill him." Cora's eyes flash dangerously. "So you better run, Stiles, because we won't be able to control ourselves on the next full moon. We'll hunt you down and drag you back to Derek, and since you've obviously moved on with your life you'll reject him and we'll have to kill you." 

 

* * *

 

The last full moon was last night. Stiles has a month to make things right.

 

* * *

 

Stiles runs a good distance into the woods because stupid werewolves have their stupid enhanced senses like enhanced hearing and he wants this call to be _private, damn it,_ and calls Scott. He does not even wait for Scott to say hi before launching into a tirade. "Did you know that if Malia leaves you, you have eight years to live before you kick the bucket? Because I didn't. Did you know your Betas would maul her if she ever left? _Because I didn't._ "

"We're married, not mated." Scott pauses. "Wait. _You_ didn't know about mate rejection?"

Stiles ignores that subtle jab at him, because he now knows that he should have known this piece of crucial information and does not need anyone else telling him that he's stupid for not knowing because he knows he's stupid, thank you very much. "Why didn't you tell me that Cora's gonna kill me in a month?"

Stiles can hear Scott roll his eyes over the phone. "I can't interfere with another pack's business, Stiles." 

"Okay, but telling me the hundred moons thing technically isn't interfering with anything," Stiles points out.

Scott sighs. "Honestly Stiles, I thought you knew. Which is why I thought you really wanted out and that you'd moved on, because you basically left Derek to die."

Stiles winces. That was not even a subtle jab, it was just stabbing the knife in and twisting it for good measure. "Ouch. Okay, when you put it like that, I really do sound like an asshole."

"You need to leave." Even without enhanced hearing, Stiles can hear Scott shuffling through his drawers. "I'll pick you up, you'll be under my protection. The Hales might hate us for a bit but as long as we don't trespass on their territory, we can coexist."

"No, Scott. I have to do this myself. I can't make you and your pack take the fall for my stupid mistakes." Scott would never admit it, but he would always submit to Derek despite being a True Alpha, because Derek was the one to mentor Scott when he was still starting out. That was the reason Scott was the one to take his pack and move out of Beacon Hills, not because he wanted to find a job in the neighboring state, but because Derek was the Alpha with more authority. 

" _No, Stiles,"_   Scott repeats mockingly. "It's not just my pack, it's your pack too."

Stiles shakes his head even though he knows Scott cannot see him over the phone. "No, it isn't. You've never invited me to a pack meeting. Or a pack dinner. Or a pack _anything,_ now that I think about it, even though I know everyone in your pack. Well, almost everyone, I know who they _are_ but I haven't really spoken to a few of them. Which is kind of weird, huh? I thought I was just busy with work, but now that I think about it not taking part in even one pack anything is kinda telling."

Scott remains silent.

"Scott? You there?"

"I-- Yeah. I'm here. Stiles--" 

Realization strikes him. How did he not know this? All the signs have been in his face for the past eight years. Scott not inviting him for pack things, his pack giving him dirty stares, even Malia and Allison and Lydia not meeting his eyes or responding to him unless absolutely necessary. It was not because he is a human, or because he is a part of the FBI. It was all because of _Derek._ "Oh my god. Everyone's avoiding me because I abandoned Derek and pretty much left him to die. If I can betray my mate, the guy who I'm supposed to be with until death, I sure as hell can betray a pack, is what literally everyone has been thinking _for the past eight years._ "

"Stiles, we can talk about the pack later. We need to get you away from Derek first."

Stiles moans in defeat. "Oh my _god,_ you're not denying it."

"If you stay there, you'll die," Scott argues.

"Not if I still love Derek."

"What?"

"I _said._ Not if I still love Derek."

Stiles can hear Scott rolling his eyes over the phone. "That's stupid. He's ninety-nine months in, you can't learn to love him again in a month."

And Stiles thinks of the few nights he spends alone in his apartment, sitting by the windowsill with a glass of wine in one hand, lamenting the loss of his marriage. Ruminating alternate universes that might have allowed Derek and Stiles to stay together, maybe a world where Derek would have fought for them harder, or a world where Stiles was a little more resilient. 

He thinks of abusing his FBI privileges to check up on the Hale pack -- a pack that actively works with law enforcement and therefore has left a huge footprint in the system -- and he gets so much shit about it from his bosses but a wave of emotion always overwhelms him at that point and they see the look on his face and decide never call him out on it again, and he is always assigned cases that have no connection to the Hale Pack.

He thinks of failed dates, just because they weren't bearded or grumpy or had the emotional capacity of a rock, even though that was exactly the reason he left his ex-husband. He thinks of the only hook-up he has ever had after the divorce, the one he bailed out of in the middle of not only because he had fervently hoped that Derek's stubble would brush against the edge of his jaw, or Derek's fang would accidentally scratch the bottom of his lip, but when he moaned out Derek's name it was not Derek who responded so he ran and never looked back. 

He thinks of the lone photo he still has tucked in his wallet, of the happiest day of his life, a day that remained the happiest day of his life even after the divorce, and he makes up his mind.

"I don't have to," he whispers, and he is sincere.

Scott growls, the sound low and rumbling and threatening even over the phone. "That's even more stupid. Why the fuck did you file for divorce in the first place?"

Stiles flinches at the sheer animosity in his best friend's voice. "I... Look, that's not the point. The point is, if I un-reject him -- is un-reject even a word? -- then he'll live, and we can sort out our problems by therapy or something, get together and be happy forever."

"It's not that simple, Stiles," Scot says at the same time he hears the crunch of footsteps on the forest floor. He turns around, slowly, and drops his phone when he sees who is there. 

"Derek."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Derek?" Stiles' voice cracks. The phone slips from his hand and bounces on the forest bed.

Derek looks the same, even after all these years. He's all dark, tousled hair that flops over his sharp blue-green-grey eyes that are so full of emotion but betray none of his thoughts at the same time. The set of his jaw, the slight stubble that dots the underside of his chin and jawline, the muscles that accentuated the shape of his shoulders and thighs. 

Except Derek also looks different. The past eight years have not been kind to him. He has developed a lot of wrinkles around his forehead and near his eyes, making him look decades older than he actually is. His eyes have always held a softness, especially when his gaze was directed at Stiles, but now they seemed padded with resignation and exhaustion. Once, Derek would have pulled his Stiles' hand into his grip and never let go, or maybe pulled Stiles to him by the waist and buried his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck, but the Derek of now maintains his distance.

"Stiles," Derek says calmly, as if finding your FBI operative ex-husband in your backyard is a common, everyday occurrence. Which Stiles is sure is statistically not, because he checks the FBI records yearly and Derek never remarried anyone, much less another FBI agent. "You smell distressed. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, the letter." Upon seeing Derek's furrowed brows, Stiles asks cautiously, "Didn't you send me a letter? I know we haven't been in touch recently, but I'd know your handwriting from anywhere."

"No." Derek pauses to read the letter that Stiles shoves in his face before sniffing it tentatively. "Doesn't smell like anything or anyone suspicious touched it."

Stiles' face falls as his hand lowers. "So you don't actually want me here?" Of course Derek would not randomly send his ex-husband a letter with a wad of cash. Of course this is a trap, Stiles is a fucking FBI agent and there are always people out to get him and he should have considered this possibility sooner. Of course Stiles had to fall for it and get Derek dragged into this mess. 

The combination of everything; exhaustion from his flight, finding out that his ex-husband is dying because of him, and maybe him and said ex are being lured into a trap, everything weighs down on him.

Just like that, something in him snaps.

His heart starts to pound in his chest. His head starts to swim. His vision is already blurring. God, what if he fucked everything up by coming here? What if this was exactly what they wanted? 

"Stiles."

That is his name, yes. 

"Stiles, breathe."

Breathing is important, yes. Stiles follows orders and takes a deep breath. A firm and calloused hand grabs his own and places it on a very firm, very nice chest. "Follow my breathing, okay? Breathe out."

He follows the nice voice's orders for a bit, until his breathing slows to a natural rhythm and his heart has stopped trying to leap out of his ribcage. When Stiles finally comes to his senses, he finds himself with his head tucked under Derek's chin, his palm resting in the middle of Derek's chest, both of them sitting on the forest bed and leaning against a tree. 

"Oh my god, Derek," Stiles says, scrambling up and away from Derek's hold. "I am so, _so_ sorry, I didn't expect to have a panic attack, I haven't had one in years--"

"It's fine." Derek pushes himself up, helping Stiles up because Stiles' knees were still weak. He tugs in a seemingly random direction of the forest, and it is then that Stiles notices that the sun has already set. The forest is entirely dark, and if not for Derek's superhuman eyesight and guiding hand Stiles would undoubtedly have to wait for sunrise to find his way around again. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Stiles asks. He's still trembling a little, but Derek's touch on his arm gives him the strength to move on.

"Rest the night, figure things out later."  

Oh god. He was going to have to spend the night with the Hale pack. The pack that definitely hates him now that he's condemned their Alpha to death. Cora made it clear, and it looked like the others agree with her on a certain level. 

Except instead of the huge house made to house an entire pack, they come across a small cottage. Stiles jaw drops. "Woah. When did this get here?"

"I built it." Derek almost sounds proud. 

"Not that I'm not digging the whole cabin in the woods thing, but it's pretty impressive knowing that you built it yourself."

"Thanks."

Short answers. Short answers are bad. They meant disinterest in the conversation. "So uh, why did you build it?" Stiles asks conversationally.

"Maybe you'll find out one day." Derek unlocks the door and steps in, turning on the lights. 

Stiles surveys the house. The kitchen and living room are connected, neatly arranged furniture that seem worn but well-cared for. A small but cosy home. Stiles approves.

Derek gestures to the lone door at the back of the house. "There's only one bedroom, but you can take it for the night. The bathroom is connected. Go clean up, you reek of anxiety and fear."  

Stiles rolls his eyes, making sure Derek is in his line of sight. Derek rolls his eyes back at Stiles. "Geez, sorry for having feelings. I left my luggage on your front lawn, by the way."

"You can wear my stuff. I won't miss it." Derek's lips quirk up, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. 

Stiles purses his lips. "Don't say that."

"Say what? That I won't miss my stuff? Because it's true. A dead man has no use for material goods, Stiles."  

"Not if I can help it. Derek. Derek, I--" Stiles pauses. "I don't want you to die."

Derek lets out a long sigh. "It doesn't work that way, Stiles."

"What doesn't work? Because I know about the hundred moons mate rejection thing, I didn't know then I swear but now I know, and I love you, I've always loved you so you don't have to die. Right?" He knows his voice is rising in desperation, but he cannot bring himself to care.

"You don't have to feel guilty about my death," Derek says slowly.

"But I do! And I will, even if this stupid letter--" Stiles waves the letter around frantically, "--never came in my mail and I never came back in time, and when I learn about your death I'd have mourned the fact that I never got another chance with you--"

"So you wouldn't have come back if not for the letter."

Stiles drags his palms down his face. "Oh my god, this is coming out all wrong. Okay, uh, actions speak louder than words, right? That's what Deaton said. Used to say, at least, I haven't seen him in a while. Do you need anything? What do you want to do tonight?"

"Don't listen to Deaton."

"It's still pretty sound advice though, and it's not like only Deaton is saying it. I've seen internet quotes and that comes out a lot, so it's not like Deaton owns that phrase. Not that it matters." Stiles pauses. "Wait, you're telling me not to listen to Deaton and I'm doing it. Oh my god, I literally can't do anything without fucking it up."

Derek chuckles, the sound low and rumbling and doing _things_ to Stiles. He lifts his arm and grabs Stiles by the collar, dragging him into the (lone) bedroom and down onto the bed and eliciting a surprised yelp from Stiles. Stiles' overloaded brain struggles to connect the dots. "Uh, sex? I can do sex, even though I don't really know if I can still do sex, it's been a while--"

"How long?"

"Eight years, if you're talking about full penetrative action. Last handjob was five or six years ago, but it was just once and I felt so grossed out and I never did it again. It--" Stiles swallows heavily and admits, "It wasn't you."

"I don't want sex," Derek declares. 

"Oh, okay," Stiles says, ignoring the disappointment bubbling in his chest. "It's okay, I'll take the next few days to prepare myself for butt stuff just in case. Maybe I'll pop a trip to the convenience store for lube, but I sure as hell didn't bring any butt plugs to stretch--"

"Stiles, shut up."

"Okay, okay, sorry. Shutting up."

Derek tucks Stiles under the covers gently, as if Stiles is the one whose days are numbered, as if Stiles were made of glass. Stiles lays limp on his side as Derek rearranges their limbs so that Derek's chest is flush on Stiles' back. Derek's head leans down to press his nose against the crook of Stiles' neck, and his strong arms wrap around Stiles waist, and Stiles realizes that Derek is scenting him. Which makes zero sense, because scenting is extremely intimate to werewolves, and Stiles is definitely not Derek's anything and does not warrant Derek's scent clinging off him. Not anymore.

After a while, Derek stops scenting him and speaks, though he does not lift his face from the crook of Stiles' neck. One of his hands has relocated to Stiles' hip, rubbing his thumb in slow, small circles over the exposed skin. The action itself is so painfully domestic, it makes Stiles hurt. "How have you been?"

Stiles stops, slightly taken aback by the mundane question. "Uh, good? You know I was in the FBI, and I did my time, but I rarely ever went on the field because they said I couldn't blend in like a normal person, so I mostly worked from home and put together cases and stuff. I can't tell you anything but it was pretty fun and we help a lot of people so I like what I do. But they have some kind of bullshit mandatory mental health leave that we have to take every five years, so I got kicked out of the FBI temporarily until they need me again."

Not that Stiles has much of a purpose outside work. He spends time with Scott, but Scott has his pack and Malia and a daughter to take care of now, and no one from the FBI is allowed to hang out with each other outside work because blah blah security reasons. To be honest, he is just drifting through life endlessly, waiting for the day he gets shot in the head for knowing too much. His mood sours immediately.

Derek seems to pick up on it. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Uh." He should probably tell the truth, because Derek is a werewolf and can hear Stiles' heartbeat and he can smell if Stiles is lying, even more so because they used to be together together and he knows how Stiles smells like when he's lying and when he's telling the truth. "I don't have a lot of free time. Even if I'm working, I can't go out freely. But when I do, I... I meet people."

Derek stops rubbing his thumb in circles over Stiles' hip.

"I meet people, as in, you know. Spend time with people, like Scott and Malia and Allison and Lydia. And I uh. Go on dates. But..." Stiles swallows again. "I find myself comparing them to you. Like, if they were your height, or if they were as calm as you, and if they had that aura that radiated leadership and just made people want to fall at their feet and do anything they asked."

Derek scoffs. "I don't make people want to fall at my feet."

"Debatable. I mean, have you looked in a mirror recently, or like, ever? Have you seen yourself? You're a big bad Alpha, and you're a born werewolf, and you just tower over everyone--"

"I'm not that much taller, Stiles."

"--I mean not literally, but you just kind of radiate that kind of confidence, you know? That you expect people to do as you say, and a lot of times people just do it because you look like you know what you're doing--"

"I don't always."

"--Yeah, but you always look like it. Like when you signed the divorce papers immediately."

That sentence cut, in more ways than one. But what hurt more was the way Derek unwrapped his arms from Stiles' middle and turned over, facing away from Stiles. And Stiles knows that Derek can smell the tears welling up in his eyes, Derek used to lick them away whenever Stiles had a bad day and broke down crying in their shared apartment, but tonight Derek does not even acknowledge them.

That is his cue to go. Stiles steps out of bed, sniffles, and pulls the covers over his ex-husband. "Good night, Derek," he whispers as his voice cracks, and god does he want to press his lips against the sliver of exposed skin right below Derek's ear, but resists and steps further back. 

He closes the door softly behind him and tries not to cry.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Stiles wakes up in Derek's bed. Which is weird because he distinctly remembers crying himself to sleep on Derek's couch, so Derek must have carried him into the room while he was sleeping. He curses himself for letting his guard down. Break or not, he is an FBI agent and FBI agents should always wake up if someone carries them from one place to another while sleeping.

Stiles gets up and hobbles to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with the only toothbrush in the cup. He assumes it is Derek's but uses it anyway. Derek probably would not mind.

He finds a folded towel and clean clothes on the side and uses them absently, slightly thankful that Derek thought this far ahead. He dumped his luggage on Derek's front lawn so he only has one change of clothes for now. Derek, however, has gratefully lent him an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants that do not fit him at all. He checks himself in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the room to find Derek.

"Morning," Derek calls from the kitchen.

"Good morning." Stiles walks to the kitchen and peers over Derek's shoulder. For some reason, Derek is cooking up pancakes. "Looks good. You're still a better cook than me."

For a moment, Stiles swears he sees the corner of Derek's lips turn up, but it is gone in a split second. "Do you have your gun?" Derek asks abruptly.

Stiles blinks, slightly thrown off guard. "Uh, no. I took the trip for personal reasons, so I wasn't authorized to bring my gun on the flight."

Derek gestures to a corner of the room, bringing Stiles' attention to his lost luggage. "Isaac brought you your luggage. They couldn't find your phone though, so you can use mine to call whoever." 

"I can't use a civilian's phone to call the FBI," Stiles protests. 

"I'm not a civilian, I'm an Alpha." Derek picks his phone out of his back pocket swiftly, scrolls through his contact list and calls someone before handing Stiles the phone. The contact name is just "FBI". 

"W-wait, Derek--" Stiles starts, but the person on the other end has already picked up.

"Alpha Hale?" The distorted voice sounds wary.

Stiles brings the phone to his ear and turns down the volume on instinct, even though Derek has supersonic hearing and will hear everything Stiles says. "N-no. It's uh, Stiles."

"Stiles? Stilinski?" The voice now sounds disbelieving.

"Yeah, my phone got wrecked. Or lost. I dunno. Stuff happened, I need help."

"Verification please." Right. Stiles rattles off his verification phrase to the satisfaction of the operator on the other end. "I'll transfer you to a secure line. Are you in a secure location?"

"Kind of?" He squints at Derek, who is flipping pancakes with ease, seemingly oblivious to the conversation Stiles is having. "Derek's here, but if you want him to leave so that he can't hear me he'll have to leave Beacon Hills entirely, so..."

"Do you trust him?"

"Yeah. He kind of knows what's happening, anyway." Stiles rattles off the entire story, about how he found a letter in his mail in Derek's handwriting and booked a flight to Beacon Hills, but it turns out Derek was not the one who sent the letter. He does not tell the other person about his failed marriage. 

There is a long pause on the line. Stiles hears some shuffling papers in the background, and the rapid tapping on a keyboard. "Wait a second. _You're_ Alpha Hale's runaway mate?"

Stiles sniffs indignantly. "I didn't run away, we had a mutual divorce."

"Dude, office gossip was that you two divorced because you found out he was mated. Not that you were his mate and _left._ "

"Well, office gossip is wrong. What can you do about the fake letter?" 

"We'll look into it. For now, you need to stay with Alpha Hale."

Stiles sighs. He could see this coming from a mile away, but a small part of him wishes that there would be an alternative. "Can I leave? His pack doesn't like me very much. I won't go far, my dad's place is a short drive away."

" _I_ don't like you very much right now. I don't think Alpha Hale abused you, so you had no right to leave."

"And you have no right to talk about my relationship," Stiles growls. All he hears from everyone is how the divorce is his fault. Yeah, Stiles was the one who initiated it. But how was he supposed to know that rejecting Derek after mating would literally kill Derek? No matter what everyone says, it is not his fault that Stiles does not know, because it was Derek's responsibility to tell him the consequences of mating before putting the bite mark on him. 

Now everyone looks at Stiles like he committed some heinous sin. Which he kind of did, but maintains that it is not his fault. 

"Whatever, Stilinski. I'm pretty sure you're fucked either way." He hears more vigorous laptop tapping over the phone. "We profiled Cora, the next in line to be Alpha. She's the kind of person to hold grudges, and she can be pretty brutal about it."

Stiles snorts indignantly. "Yeah? She made it pretty clear she's gonna rip my balls off. That's why I don't want to stay."

"Yeah, but now she knows where you are, she can track you pretty easily. It wouldn't be that bad if your trail went cold eight years ago, but a month old trail? Even a strong Beta could sniff it out. And from what I see, the Hale pack is pretty strong." The voice pauses. "And you do realize that if -- or rather, when -- Cora Hale and the Hale Betas decide to hunt you down for killing their previous Alpha, the FBI can't help you?"

This is news to Stiles. "Why?"

"Because we can't risk severing ties with the Hale pack, duh. According to the pact we have with the Hales, if we come across anyone with a blood feud with the Hales, we're obliged to serve them up on a platter. And if we have to serve your skinny ass up on a platter to keep the alliance with the Hales, we're gonna do it."

"I don't see Peter's head mounted on the wall as decoration here," Stiles says dryly. The fact that Peter Hale regularly crosses paths with the FBI is left unsaid.

"That's not the point, Stilinski. We don't have the manpower to send a retrieval team, and even if we did we can't house you anyway. The point is he's gonna die, you're gonna die, and all they had to do was send you a vague letter in Alpha Hale's handwriting for you to fall into this trap!" The voice yells, and even the voice distortion cannot hide the pure desperation the person on the other end is feeling. The operator takes a few steady deep breaths before resuming a professional profile. "Anything else you want to say? You can't call back until you've changed your verification, because..."

"Yeah, I know. Derek heard my code and I have to go back to HQ to get a new one, so I can't call back until I get a new code. And no, I've got nothing else. You just said you can't help me, so I know I'm on my own for this one."

"I'll call Alpha Hale if we have any updates on the letter." The phone hangs up abruptly. Stiles should be used to this by now because all the other agents do is hang up on him, but knowing that this might be the last time he speaks to someone from the FBI makes this a very different situation. He carefully sets Derek's phone on the counter and backs away to the couch.  

"You're not going to die," Derek says quietly.

Stiles snorts. "Cora said she would, while we were on the front lawn on the first day."

"I'll made it my dying wish. They'll respect it." 

"How do you know that?" Stiles demands.

"They listen," Derek says quietly. Stiles has a feeling that it means more than Derek lets on.

 

* * *

 

The pack comes by to visit Derek. They seem to have some kind of schedule worked out, because Derek is never alone until nightfall. Stiles gives them time alone, partly because they deserve privacy and partly because he does not feel welcome.

Isaac visits the most. He bring groceries and cooks and cleans for Derek, even though Derek is still miles better than anyone in the pack in terms of cooking ability. Even with his dull human hearing, Stiles can hear Isaac's sobs through the walls sometimes. Stiles never asks.

Erica and Boyd always visit with their three-year-old son in tow. Sometimes they leave the boy alone with Derek and Stiles to have a date. "They'll have to pawn the little man off to Cora soon," Derek jokes, Stiles' heart clenching when he sees the clueless boy when he looks at Stiles with questioning eyes. Before this, Stiles would have never imagined Derek would ever want kids, but seeing the boy sprawled out on Derek's lap makes Stiles think otherwise.

He does not think that image will leave his mind for a long time.

Jackson and Ethan do not always come together, but when they do they always hold each other's hands, simple wedding bands gleaming on their fingers. "They rushed the wedding for me. I told them not to do anything they'd regret--" Stiles winces at the implication Derek is making, "but they were insistent.

None of the pack acknowledge Stiles' existence.

 

* * *

 

Stiles spends the time they have alone talking.

He updates Derek on the McCall pack, how Scott and Malia got hitched and popped out a baby girl a few months ago. He tells Derek about Jordan and Lydia, that even though they decided not to get married or have children, they live together and are happy together. He tells Derek that Allison still honors the family trade, but she makes sure to only hunt supernaturals who cause harm to others, but is afraid the Argent line will die with her. He even tells Derek about Kira, who is no longer a part of the McCall pack but remains close friends with everyone. She travels the world, but always drops by to visit every few years or so.

He never talks about himself. He thinks Derek understands, because Derek never asks.

Derek talks too, sometimes. He tells Stiles that he took up carpentry as a means to pass the time, but people started commissioning him for works even though he was not hurting for money. He ran with it and opened a small company that the pack manages together. Derek and Cora do the carpentry, Erica and Boyd pick up calls and meet clients, and Jackson and Ethan clean up their messes. There is some occasional supernatural trouble, but nothing the pack cannot handle with ease.

He does not tell Derek he knows all this already, because he makes it a point to check up on the Hale pack annually through his FBI connections.

They share a bed every night. Most nights Derek spoons Stiles, his arm around Stiles' skinny waist and thumb rubbing small circles into his skin. Some nights, Stiles turns around to face Derek and tucks his head under Derek's chin, burying his face in Derek's shirt and trying not to cry. Derek simply holds Stiles and rocks him softly, kisses the top of his head and waits for Stiles to stop shaking.

Once, he wakes up in the middle of the night to Derek pressing his nose against Stiles' mating bite, and he lets himself fall into the rhythm of fake sleep, making sure to keep his emotions calm to not change his scent and alert Derek. He does not let himself react when Derek lets out a pained whimper, and simply falls into a light sleep as the FBI trained him to do.

He does not ask. Derek does not tell. 

Every morning, Stiles wakes up to an empty bed. He takes time every morning to feel the fading warmth on Derek's side of the bed. Then he gets up, brushes his teeth with Derek's toothbrush, wears the clothes that Derek sets out for him, and opens the door to Derek cooking breakfast.

Three weeks pass like this. They talk and talk about everything, but they do not talk about their failed marriage or Derek's impending death.

Until they do. 

 

* * *

 

"Are you alright?" Derek asks one morning. Because of course Derek notices, he has a werewolf nose and can practically smell Stiles' misery this morning.

"No, I'm not. _Fuck,_ you should be the one who's not alright, but here I am feeling sorry for myself." Stiles laughs bitterly, throwing himself on the couch as he does so. He's not alright, he just had a dream where Stiles ripped up the divorce papers _(as he should have all those years ago)_ and they spent eight years working out what went wrong between them, and maybe adopted a kid or two. 

And Stiles _knows_ that was no dream, that was a vision of an alternate timeline where he did rip up the divorce papers, where he apologized to Derek for even suggesting divorce over couple's counselling. Stiles knows it the way he knows the sky is blue and grass is green.

In that vision, Stiles pulled his head out of his ass and stopped accusing Derek of not trying in their relationship when in reality Derek was the one who was more invested in their marriage than Stiles was, and he started making an effort to make it up to Derek instead of running away. And he knows that even though they still fought bitterly from time to time, they knew that they still loved each other and made each other happy.

Now Stiles has finally done that, but it's eight years too late.

"I had years to come to terms with it, but it's new to you." Derek pauses. "Want to talk about it?"

"I just," Stiles starts. "I just wish the past eight years never happened." He swallows, the lump in his throat growing, catching the words that Stiles wants to articulate. Derek turns off the gas and makes his way to the couch, plonking himself right beside Stiles. He takes Stiles' hand in his and kneads it carefully, and that gives Stiles the courage to continue. "I just want to turn back time and smack myself in the face for being so blind to everything, for blaming everything on you when all the fault was mine for _leaving._ And now you're gonna die and I don't know if I can make this right."

"Stiles. Look at me." Derek takes Stiles' chin firmly and turns it to face him. "Everything that's happening now, it's not just your fault. It's my fault too."

"How can it be your fault? I'm the one who left," Stiles chokes out. He sniffles once, then rubs at his eyes frantically. He is not going to start crying now, not when he needs to spend every precious second with Derek before he no longer has the chance to.

Derek hesitates, letting go of Stiles' face to hold his hand again. "I assumed that since you spent a lot of time with werewolves, you knew almost everything about us. I didn't know that you weren't fully informed about mating, and I'm sorry for assuming that you knew and I should've explained it to you before making the offer."

"Okay, yeah, it's shitty that everyone's blaming me for your impending death," Stiles admits. "I did blame you for it for the first few days, but... I couldn't stay mad. Not at you."

Derek sighs. "I admit, the mating was completely my fault. I never told you the true consequences of mating because I-- I knew you'd reject if you knew it was _this_ binding. In hindsight, you would've been right to reject. Mating usually only happens after couples have children, and sometimes not even until couples are on their deathbed." Stiles' eyebrows rise slowly. This is something that he was completely unaware of.

"So that's why Scott and Malia are married but aren't mated," Stiles muses. Derek nods.

"I wanted a family, a _pack,_ like what I had back before the fire. I know I wasn't a good Alpha before, but I wanted to be an Alpha worthy of Isaac and Cora and everyone else. And you kept my head screwed on, and you called me out on things when I got too out of line, and we were having great sex. People died in that battle against the Nogitsune, and I thought I'd miss the chance to have a normal life if I left it for too long, so I proposed not long after we got together." Derek smiles wistfully.

"I thought I could handle your odd hours, but I couldn't. I wasn't... I'm not very good at feelings. I didn't know how to tell you that I wanted  _more_ from our relationship than sex and spending time together on your off days, which weren't very many to begin with. I wanted more of your attention and validation, and I thought if I sealed our bond that way, you'd respond to my needs more. That was the wrong way to go about things, and I apologize."

"Stop apologizing," Stiles grumbles half-heartedly. Instinctively, he leans his head on Derek's shoulder, suppressing a shiver at the way Derek buries his nose in Stiles' hair. 

"I'll admit I made a mistake with the mating. And Stiles, I'll never regret the time I spent with you. You made me happy."

Stiles smiles. Maybe they could repair the bond, and Derek could live. 

"But I don't regret the divorce."

Stiles jolts up, his heart starting to race. "Derek, please--"

"Stiles, listen." Derek grips Stiles' hand tightly, making deep eye contact with his ex-husband. His heart slows down a little. "I love you. I still do even after all these years. There's never been anyone else for me. But... I still think the divorce was for the best. I grew dependent on you throughout our marriage, and it was unhealthy. The divorce taught me how to live. Not for you, not for the pack, but for _me._ "

Looking back now, Derek is right. That was the reason Stiles pulled away from the marriage in the first place and spent increasingly more hours at work. His work had never been demanding, heck, he was allowed to work from home on some days, but he spent time in the office, with his colleagues, because Derek grew increasingly sullen over the course of their marriage and he could never pinpoint _why._

In hindsight, Derek had told him what he wanted. He asked quietly for some time on the weekends, or an evening to attend pack meetings. But Stiles always had something to do, or he was too tired after work, or he wanted to hang out with his co-workers. Derek never pushed even though he was hurting because he trusted Stiles, and Stiles had broken that trust and turned it around on Derek.

Stiles accused Derek of not putting in effort into their marriage, but the truth was Stiles never gave Derek much time to do anything for Stiles. Derek clung to him when they had time together, but that sour attitude remained, and it weighed on Stiles until it broke their marriage. 

"You're dying for me," Stiles whispers hoarsely.

"Then you'll just have to be happy enough for the both of us." Derek presses a kiss on Stiles' temple. "You should pack what you need and leave for your father's tomorrow morning. Cora will be Alpha, and she won't like you here."

Stiles sucks in a deep breath. Tomorrow. Derek is dying tomorrow. They finally had closure, but Derek was still dying.

"Can I... be there? For you?" Stiles asks, pleads.

Derek's eyes are sad. "I'm sorry. You're not pack."

Maybe that was how Derek felt when he found the divorce papers on the dining table eight years ago. But now, Stiles understands why Derek signed the papers instead of fighting for them like he hoped Derek would.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles' father picks him up in front of the main Hale house. Derek helps to load Stiles' luggage in the boot of the car. The silence stretches between them. 

Stiles turns back to face Derek one last time. "Derek? For all it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just find your happiness without me." Derek runs his hand through Stiles' hair, then pulls Stiles forward by the neck and presses his face into the crook of Stiles' neck. They stay like this for a minute, before Stiles' father coughs and breaks the moment. Stiles gets into the car, closes the door, and watches from the window and Derek fades into the distance.

 

* * *

 

"Dad, I fucked up," Stiles voice cracks. 

"I know, Stiles." 

"I love him, I do. I'm not lying, or doing this just to keep him alive. I'm not, I swear."

"I believe you, son."

"It just." Stiles has a harder time than usual finding the words to express himself, and part of him wants to blame the ADHD but most of him wants to blame his emotional constipation. And he thought _Derek_ was the one who had trouble with words. "It just takes me years to finally be done with sacrificing my soul for the-- _them,_ and I'm too late to make things right."

The drive is silent, too silent. He had gotten used to filling up the silence with his incessant chatter, or listening to Derek talk about his life after the divorce. "How did you cope when mom died?" Stiles blurts out. Anything to get rid of the silence.

"When your mother fell ill and passed away, I was devastated. I loved her so much, and it hurt to see her condition deteriorate with every passing day. But there was a day close to her death when she was clear headed, and it was like she knew she was dying. And she said that she knew she would never get better, so the only thing she wanted was for me to be able to be happy again.

"When she passed, I had so many other obligations. Like you, and the police force. And it was you and my job and my friends at work who kept me going until the pain numbed enough for me to be happy again. I know it doesn't seem like it now, and it won't for a very long while, but you'll be able to be happy again. And I think when Derek asked you leave, he means he wants you to move on and find happiness without him."

"I had eight years to do that and I never could. I can't be happy without him, dad. I need to do something."

"I think," his dad says carefully, "What you can do is stay around for the people who need you, like Scott." _Like me._  "I don't blame you for not knowing about the hundred moons deadline because most rejected mates don't last that long. Most go feral or commit suicide. But Derek didn't. And you know, Derek didn't stick around because he was waiting for you to come back to him, he stuck around because he had a duty to his pack. Even after Cora familiarized herself with all the Alpha business, he stayed because he could spend that time with the people he loves, even if his time is numbered."

"If I just go back and explain--"

"Stiles," his father's voice is stern. "It's his dying wish for you to stay away. I think... you should respect that."

"That's not fair," Stiles wails.

"Life isn't fair, kid. But this is the only thing Derek has asked of you, and I think the least you can do is honor it." 

 

* * *

 

The full moon approaches. It hangs in the sky, taunting Stiles endlessly. The howl of a wolf resounds throughout Beacon Hills not long after, signalling the death of their former Alpha.

Stiles leans into his father's shoulder and weeps.

 


End file.
